


Where does such tenderness come from (And what do I do with it)

by tedusa



Series: The fucks and downs of Harley and Ivy [1]
Category: DC Extended Universe, DCU, Harley Quinn (Cartoon 2019), Harley Quinn (Comics)
Genre: F/F, Harley Quinn - Freeform, Poison Ivy - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:08:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25036747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tedusa/pseuds/tedusa
Summary: The fucks and downs of Harley and Ivy #1(post season two finale)"The grey exterior and panelled cladding adorning the motel remind you of a day-care, or a day-care doubling as a crack house. Harley drags you in anyway."
Relationships: Pamela Isley/Harleen Quinzel
Series: The fucks and downs of Harley and Ivy [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1813228
Comments: 5
Kudos: 109





	Where does such tenderness come from (And what do I do with it)

**Author's Note:**

> \- 2nd person Pam  
> \- some post finale fix it feels  
> \- pretty lazy but whatever  
> \- part one of ???  
> \- pls be kind I haven't post fic in years lol

**“Where does such tenderness come from**

**(And what do I do with it)”**

* * *

  
  


Gotham PD had given chase far longer than you had expected but with Harley at the wheel, it was still no challenge to shake them off. With a few death defying corner cuts, and a wall of branches, you manage to lose them not far past the river. 

You drive for over an hour with the fires on an old life burning at your backs to the first shitty motel outside of the city, where Harley swings the car into the parking lot, halts diagonally with a screech and pulls you hand-in-hand into the building.

“Babe, this definitely is not far enough away from Gotham for Gordon to not come looking for us,” you offer. 

Harley simply snorts in your direction. “Ha, let the old man try it! And please, as if two classy broads such as us would be caught dead in a place like this,”

The grey exterior and panelled cladding adorning the motel remind you of a day-care, or a day-care doubling as a crack house. Harley drags you in anyway. 

“Your finest double room please, m’lady,” Harley says in a terrible British accent, whipping someone else’s credit card out of her bra with her free hand. The child working behind the desk barely looks up from her phone.

“All of our rooms are, like, the same,” 

“Then the ones with the cleanest sheets,” you add, observing the spiders in the corner of the beige walls above you.

The desk girl looks you up and down. It’s not hard to envision the green fool she sees in front of her. “Did you guys just get married or something?” 

“What do you mean?” you say smirking, feigning surprise and looking at the dirt stains on your white dress. “I dress like this everyday,” 

Harley squeezes your hand a little tighter. “Well, she almost did, to a guy wearing a kite costume,”

“A fucking kite costume, can you believe? Then I ran away with my bridesmaid,” the girl raised a well pencilled eyebrow. “It’s like, totes fucking random,” 

You both giggle as the girl picks a key off a hook. “Right, well, room seven then, I guess,” 

  
  
  


“Jesus,” you say, bursting into the room, kicking off your heels and pulling the pin out of your hair. “I need out of this fucking dress,” 

“Let me help,” Harley offers gently, and you turn to look at her. Bright and breathtaking, all raggedy strands of hair and smudged eyeliner, your breath hitches as she comes closer. She laces soft fingers around your back and the space between you melts away, the smell of candy floss shampoo and smoke filling your lungs. Harley pulls the zip of your once white lace and rolls it down your shoulders, one after the other. The room is cold against your exposed body but for the first time in a long time, you feel free. 

Harley steps backs. “Looking better already, mama,” 

It’s hard to look at her. You feel like a phoney, a damn liar, no matter what Harley’s forgiving blue eyes say. A liar who shivers and moans when Harley’s hands come back to you, when she takes your face and kisses you hard. You kiss her back, bundling into the wall together, both ripping at Harley’s dress as you go. Kissing Harley always feels so different than kissing anyone else, and though you don’t want to pull away, you do. 

“We-,” you’re breathless and the words struggle out. “We should stop,”

“Oh,” you hate how sad she sounds. 

“No,” you smile to try and reassure her. “Not  _ stop _ stop. I- we should talk, Harls,”

“Oh,” the same word, different tone. “Then no,”

You screw up your face and move your hands to around her hips. “What do you mean ‘no’?” 

“Not right now, okay? Today has been a thousand tonnes of crazy, even for me, and I can think of at least sixteen separate things we could be doing right now that do not involve talking,” 

“How many of them are sexual?” 

“Thirteen and a half,”

You can’t help but chuckle, and you bring your forehead down to rest against hers. “Look, I know I haven’t not been a dick and I just want to say sorry, or whatever,'' Harley looks at you and you feel like you’re drowning in the blue. 

“I know,” she whispers, her breath warms against your cheeks as she speaks. “But later, please, Pam,” 

You’d do anything she asked of you in these moments. “Okay, later,”

“I’m going to kiss you now, if that’s okay,” 

You reply with your mouth against hers, your lips on her neck, your teeth dragging their way over ice-white skin. 

You would have liked to have made it to the bed, but once you start you cannot stop. You push Harley against the wall again and shift a pale thigh over your hip, pushing your bodies as close together as they could be. You pull at her underwear with all the tender animalism you can muster and kiss your way down your best friend’s body. A body that carried a story of scars. You swear to yourself that you will never add another. 

Harley’s explicit moans and whispered pet names only encourage and excite you, as you drop to your knees on the rough fibre carpet, take her thigh in your hand and place your arm beneath her. You take her into your mouth, you show her how grateful you are for everything she did for you today. 

You go slowly, at first at least, but always gently, as Harley wraps her fingers in your hair and begins to buck against you, pushing your head further between her legs. Every ‘please’ or fuck’ only up your speed and dedication, and it isn’t long before Harley lets loose a scream that is also a sigh and slides down the wall to join you on the floor in a sweaty heap. 

With her back against the wall, she lays her legs out in front of her and encourages you to lay across her lap. Your eyes meet and you both erupt in a childish chorus of laughter.  _ Silly, as if we haven’t been here before. _ You’re still giggling and lost in thought when Harley bends down and shuts you up with another kiss.

And with that, you are lost in her once again, this time managing to crawl to the Goddamn better-be-clean bed. 

Seven orgasms, three and a half hours, and four hall vending machine powerades later, you are spent. Harley seems as if she could again but is content to lay with you a moment, naked and entangled in your arms. Like vines, you wrap yourself around her and nuzzle your head into the crook at the top of Harley’s spine.

“Y’know, I reckon we get better at that every time we do it,” 

You smile into blonde curls and lace your fingers together over her stomach.

To simply be felt like a privilege you couldn't afford, a privilege that came with a countdown. You let it happen though, you both deserve it, you dare anyone to argue otherwise. You listen contentedly to the sound of the plastic ceiling fan whirling above, to the muffled roar of cars in the distance, to Harley as she hums Joan Jett. 

Always the queen of impeccable timing, Harley waits until your eyes begin to drift shut and your head grows heavy, to speak.

“Ives?”

“Hm,”

“Now you can talk,” 

You release a grumble into her skin, and try not to focus on how good Harley still smells after all that activity. All the words you had banked as you drove away from the city seemed to disappear with all your senses when you had succumbed to the altar of Harley. All you could think about was how comfortable it felt to be wrapped up with her given how this day could have ended.

“Paaam,” she whispers, playing with your fingers. 

“As I said, I’m sorry,”

“For?”  _ Cute. _

“For complaining about all the mess you make and then making a bigger, arguably worse, mess,” she pushes away for a moment and twists in your arms, leaning in so she can turn into your chest. You kiss the top of her head.

“Maybe our messiness is why we’re here,” it was hard to think of an argument to that.

“Do you forgive me?”

Harley twirls red hair around her finger. “Nothing to forgive,” she says and you hate that she means it.

You scoff. “I almost married someone else today,”

“Well, I guess, it's time to play your Joker card, Doctor,” she laughs at her own joke and it totally almost distracts you.

“Fuck, Harley,” you make her look at you. “I’m sorry, okay. And I want- I need you to know that, and I really don’t want to have to say it again,”

She sighs and cuddles into you tightly. “Okay,”

You don’t want to leave it there. You know she doesn’t really either. 

“I’m sorry I convinced myself I was protecting other people’s feelings when really I was repressing my own,” 

Harley pokes you in the ribs gently. “Yeah, you’ve gotta stop trying to protect things, it doesn’t match our aesthetic,” she lowers her voice. “Besides, you deserve more than Harley-straight-outta-Arkham. I was a mess and we both know it,”

You riffle through her words, searching for the grain of truth she leaves you. She is right in so many ways. Neither of you were prepared for this when you first broke her out of Arkham and dragged her kicking and screaming back to your apartment. 

Yet, to deny the rest of it, to deny every glance between you that lasted a second too long; every night you spent on the sofa with Harley’s legs over your lap, eating leftovers and watching reruns; every time you lay with him and could only think about what she might be doing. To deny all that? To deny the fact that no-one scares you like Harley, that no-one makes you feel safe like Harley. To deny that would make you a liar, all over again. 

“I’ve wasted so much time,” you surprise yourself when your voice breaks as you try to speak. 

“We still have time,” she says into your chest.

_ It might be all we have.  _ You begin to cry for some fucking reason, and turn away slightly in the hope she won’t notice.

“I love you,” you tell her, wanting to be first this time. “And I have loved you, been in love with you, for a while, I think”

Her arms tighten around you. “Good,” she mumbles. “‘Cus I love you,” 

“Are you scared too?” You work up the courage to ask eventually. 

“Fuck yes,” she says. “But we’re badass remember, so let’s not tell anyone else,”

“Oh, definitely fucking not,” 

Harley comes out of her cocoon in your arms and looks you in the eye, the sea meeting earth. “If you wanna run, you gotta tell me, okay?” She gives you her pinky and you link it with your own. “We both deserve the truth this time, I think. I’m not him,”

_ And neither am I. _

You shake to that, and suddenly she is on top of you, and she’s kissing you again, and again, and again. 

It’s late when you wake up, hungry and groggy, and you panic for a moment when you realise the bed is empty. You take in the room, and listen as the sounds of the shower come into focus, the sounds of Harley singing from behind the bathroom door. There are Chinese food boxes on the sideboard, an ugly sweater with a gas station logo on the front, and a philodendron in a less than ideal plastic store pot. 

Still undressed, you make your way over and put on the clothes, finding dark legging and underwear folded beneath the sweater. You need a shower, and the sweater is itchy, and would probably look better on your dead grandmother, but you appreciate the gesture more than anything. 

You’re talking the heart-leafed plant back to life when Harley re-enters the room, drying her hair with her bridesmaid's dress. 

“Mm, hello,” she says, eyeing you up and down. “Sorry, it was the only green thing they had at the store near the restaurant,” She comes to you, and you take the dress from her hands, rubbing her hair between the fabric yourself. 

“Your dye is coming out,” 

She leans back and you drop the makeshift towel, placing your hands around her waist. “Guess, you’ll have to do it for me. We can get all soapy together afterwards,” 

“Sounds perfect,” you say truthfully, turning her in your arms and leaning down to kiss her. “Can I shower now?” 

“Food first,”

“Not fair, you got to,”

“And you decided to sleep,” she passes you a pair of chopsticks and points towards the bed. 

“The plant is sweet, thank you,”

“They were the only one there, they looked lonely, and like definitely a bit dead. Thought ya might be able to help,” she looked over at the plant. “Already looks better,” 

“Her name is Phillipa and I love her,” 

  
  


You sit crossed legged and knees touching on the bed as you eat, laughing as Harley struggles with her chopsticks, as she imitates your wedding guests with bad accents, when she kisses your nose with a mouth full of noodles. It’s silly, and slow but never stale. A privilege, you remind yourself again. 

You’re laying with your legs tangled together, bellies full, when the conversation comes back to reality.

“Where are we going next?” Harley asks, fingers stroking up and down your arm.

“Where do you want to go, babe?

“Tahiti, Themyscira, Tallahassee…”

“Not Gotham?” 

“Not right now,” 

You can’t blame her for that, you don’t want to be there either. Harley would want to get back to her boys eventually though, and you’d have to come up with a plan. 

“Does this shitty motel work for another night?”

“Well, that depends,”

“On?”

“If Phil’s down to fuck,” her voice is low, and the way she looks at you tells you she isn’t joking, for once. 

You laugh for the both of you, push her onto her back and throw your legs over her hips. “Oh, so you want me to tie you up?”

Harley visually gulps. “So fucking bad,”

“And how long have you been thinking about this, Quinn? Maybe you should be telling a therapist about all these floristic fantasies you are having” You lower your face to hers, and bring your lips to her ear as you speak. She shivers beneath you and deep inside you grow warm and ravenous.

“Longer than I think you’d be comfortable with,” she whispers back.

With one quick motion of your wrist, the plant stretches its way across the room and begins to wrap its way up Harley’s leg. 

“I really  _ was _ going to shower,”

“Together,” she says. “After,” 

“Safe word?” 

Harley bucks her hips up towards you and moans into your mouth. “Fuck kites,”


End file.
